


See You on the Other Side

by MollyPollyKinz



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Adventures in the Afterlife, Blood, Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, REDEMPTION FOR EVERYONE, Trauma, Wilbur is trying, spoilers for 3/1 stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyPollyKinz/pseuds/MollyPollyKinz
Summary: Tommy tried to reach out for someone who wasn’t there, but he couldn’t. His arm was broken in too many pieces. At least the pain was finally dulling.“Wil,” Tommy whispered, his voice thick from the blood in that filled his mouth, “Wil, it hurts.”“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur sounded so sad. Tommy didn’t want him to be sad. “It’s alright. It’ll all be over soon.”Or, Tommy reunites with Wilbur in the Afterlife
Relationships: Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 100
Kudos: 919
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	See You on the Other Side

The world hurt.

Tommy tried to struggle, tried to scream, tried to shout at Dream, shout for help, _because it hurt, Sam, Sam, Sam, Phil, Technoblade, somebody..._

But Dream had slammed his head against the ground one too many times, and Tommy’s vision swam. He could barely think past the pain. His mouth was filled with hot liquid, he could taste metal. He could smell the blood.

_Blood for the Blood God._

Where was he again? Technoblade was beating him up, right? Was it the pit? Wilbur would let this happen, right? But Technoblade had killed Tubbo—

Green flashed in Tommy’s vision, and Tommy remembered. Dream. Dream was doing this.

Dream slammed his foot down on Tommy’s ribs, and a sickening crack followed. Tommy let out a high-pitched whimper in pain, and blood trickled out of his mouth.

Tommy had half a mind to laugh as darkness closed in on his vision. Prime, he was going to die, wasn’t he? He was going to die in this dark, small, obsidian prison.

Tommy became suddenly aware of the tears spilling down his face, mixing with the blood pouring down from his nose. He wasn’t sure if the tears were form pain or sudden grief. He hadn’t meant to die like this. He always knew he would die before he grew old, but never like this.

He should’ve expected it though. Dream always had hated his guts.

Dream landed another punch to the face, and Tommy’s ears began ringing. Why were his ears ringing? Was there an explosion? Had something exploded?

Must’ve been his armor. That must’ve been it. Dream must’ve taken his armor again, and Tommy must’ve screwed up, and now he was being beaten into the ground, like he deserved.

Tommy wanted to go home. He wanted Sam. He wanted Tubbo. He wanted Technoblade.

_“You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!”_

Never mind. Technoblade would probably be happy to see him like this, especially after Tommy had betrayed him.

He wanted Phil. He wanted—

 _“Tommy?”_ an achingly familiar voice echoed in his head.

Tommy tried to reach out for someone who wasn’t there, but he couldn’t. His arm was broken in too many pieces. At least the pain was finally dulling.

“Wil,” Tommy whispered, his voice thick from the blood in that filled his mouth, “Wil, it hurts.”

 _“Oh, Tommy,”_ Wilbur sounded so sad. Tommy didn’t want him to be sad. “ _It’s alright. It’ll all be over soon.”_

Tommy gasped as his ribs were kicked again.

“It hurts,” Tommy gasped, “Please, Wil, please—”

 _“I know, baby,”_ Wil whispered, his voice choking up, “ _Just a little longer.”_

Tommy felt someone carding his hair, and Tommy leaned into the touch just as Dream landed another punch to his face.

He could barely think. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep. His eyes became heavier.

“I’m tired,” Tommy whispered, his voice barely coherent, if coherent at all.

“That’s alright,” Wilbur said, his voice suddenly clearer than it had been in months, “Just go to sleep, Toms. I’ll be right here when you wake.”

Tommy smiled, and he allowed his eyes to close.

“Well crap,” Schlatt said, “Did I just see that?”

Wilbur didn’t look up from Tommy’s unconscious form, still carding his baby brother’s hair. They weren’t at wherever Tommy had died. Wilbur never was.

They were now in the void. The void that Schlatt and Wilbur had been exiled to after their deaths.

The void where Tommy had been flickering on and off into for months now. The void where Tommy’s form became suddenly very clear only a few minutes ago, and somehow only managed to become more and more _there._

Which was wrong. Tommy wasn’t supposed to die to Dream, _especially_ to Dream. Tommy was supposed to live. Wilbur wasn’t supposed to comfort his baby brother in his dying moments, he wasn’t supposed to comfort his brother while he got _beaten to death._

Hot anger boiled in Wilbur’s gut, and Wilbur forced himself not to shout. He wanted Tommy’s awakening in the void to be as peaceful and unobtrusive as possible. That meant no potentially triggering shouts.

“You did,” Wilbur replied tersely, “Unless today’s a bad day, and we’ve both decided to have the same hallucination.”

Schlatt laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t put it past this place.”

Yeah, this void had done nothing but show Schlatt and Wilbur souls that were close to death. Never had it given them the same nightmarish hallucination.

“He _won,”_ Wilbur whispered, staring at the scars Tommy’s death wounds had left behind, “He had _won.”_

Schlatt snorted. “Winning doesn’t mean anything,” he said, “You and I both know that.”

Wilbur winced, remembering the day Pogtopia won and explosions still ruled.

“He was supposed to be safe.” Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to care that his voice was more vulnerable than it had been in the entire time he had been stuck in this void. “Dream wasn’t supposed to be able to hurt him anymore.”

“Well, we have no idea what happened,” Schlatt said frankly, “Except that Dream just beat the kid to death when he was supposed to be in prison.”

Wilbur grit his teeth. “If I find out who let this happen,” Wilbur growled, “I will resurrect myself and tear them limb by limb.”

“Dream not good enough for you?” Schlatt asked.

Wilbur smiled. “I trust everyone else to take care of that one, but if not…”

He forced himself not to grab Tommy’s hair in his fists, instead continuing running fingers through the soft hair gently. Schlatt got the point anyway.

Schlatt let out another snort. “I need a drink.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “And I need a cigarette.”

Tommy began moving slightly in Wilbur’s lap, and both Schlatt and Wilbur stayed silent. Wilbur resisted the urge to move Tommy further into his arms and cradle him like he used to. That might be too much for Tommy right now.

Besides, he didn’t deserve to expect Tommy would just accept him with open arms. Not after everything he did.

Tommy let out a low moan, and Wilbur swallowed back the lump that had returned to his throat.

“Sam?” Tommy muttered, “Sam, what happened?”

“It’s not Sam,” Wilbur said quietly.

To Wilbur’s surprise, Tommy’s eyes didn’t snap open in shock. Tommy didn’t leap to his feet, demanding to know what was going on.

Instead, Tommy sagged slightly.

“Still dreaming,” he muttered, “Better than the prison, I guess.”

Wilbur should’ve told him he wasn’t dreaming. Wilbur should’ve told Tommy then and there that this wasn’t a dream, that Tommy was dead, that it was over.

But Wilbur couldn’t. For some damned reason, Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to say the words. So, instead, he said.

“What prison?”

This was wrong. Wilbur shouldn’t be pressing for information while Tommy thought he was sleeping. This was intrusive. This was immoral.

Good thing Wilbur had given up morals a long time ago.

Tommy frowned. “Prison,” he murmured, like it was obvious, “Something happened while visiting Dream. I’m stuck there. For a week.”

Wilbur saw _red._

Tommy had been stuck? In a prison? With Dream? When Dream hated Tommy? When Tommy was claustrophobic?

“You _what?_ ”

Tommy flinched and curled in on himself. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Wilbur took a deep breath. He couldn’t allow his anger to ruin this. He ran his fingers through Tommy’s hair faster, hoping his brother would untense.

“No, you’re fine,” Wilbur promised, “Are you still in the prison? Has it been a week?”

Schlatt snorted, and Wilbur glared up at him.

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered, his voice growing more hopeful, “Yeah, Sam should be coming, but…”

“But _what?”_ Wilbur demanded. It had been a week? Tommy should’ve been out? Why wasn’t he?

“Sam said he couldn’t,” Tommy whispered, “And then Dream, he, I screwed up, he—”

Tommy snapped his eyes open, sitting up suddenly. Wilbur immediately shuffled back, giving Tommy space as his little brother struggled to heave air into his lungs.

“Tommy?” Wilbur asked. Tommy flinched. Panic filled Wilbur, and he tried again. “Tommy, can you hear me?”

“I’m dead,” Tommy muttered, “I’m dead. He _killed_ me.”

Schlatt did a slow clap. “Wow, give the boy a medal.”

Wilbur glowered at him, but even he could see the sharp anger behind Schlatt’s eyes. Apparently even tyrants could feel the need for justice.

Tommy jumped as soon as Schlatt spoke, stumbling backward. “Oh god,” he muttered, wide-eyed and panicked as he glanced between Wilbur and Schlatt, “oh god. I’m stuck with you two.”

In a situation any less stressful, Wilbur might’ve rolled his eyes at the statement. Schlatt _did._

“Tommy,” Wilbur said, slowly pulling himself to his feet in the hopes of appearing less threatening, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, taking another step back. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” Tommy’s tone changed pitch, sounding mocking. “‘oh, I’ve changed Tommy, this will be just like exile, we’ll have such great times, I won’t hurt you, look at me, I’m all reformed.’”

The anger boiling in Wilbur’s veins grew acidic. He knew bits and pieces of exile, bits and pieces of what Dream had done to Tommy, but thinking about it only made Wilbur angrier.

Tommy flinched and stepped back again.

“I’m not going to be stuck here,” he said, his voice wavering.

Schlatt laughed again. “Kinda have no choice about it.”

Tommy shook his head frantically. “I’ll be a ghost,” he said, _pleading,_ “I’m not going to be stuck again. No way, I’ll be like Ghostbur.”

Wilbur sighed. “Tommy, I was always here while poor little Ghostbur was running around. You can’t leave.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “No, no, no,” he muttered, “I can’t be stuck. I refuse to be stuck for the rest of eternity. Please, I can’t.”

Tommy looked up at the sky and began shouting. “TAKE ME BACK!” he shouted, “I DON’T LIKE IT HERE! I WANT TO GO BACK!”

Wilbur stepped forward. “Tommy—”

Tommy flinched and stumbled backward a few more steps. “Stay away from me!”

That hurt more than Phil stabbing him ever could, and Wilbur took a large step backward.

Tommy continued shouting, his voice becoming increasingly more desperate and panicked. “PLEASE!” he screamed, “ _PLEASE!”_

Wilbur only watched as his brother collapsed to his knees and began sobbing. “I can’t do this,” Tommy whispered, “I can’t do this.”

Wilbur remembered a time when Tommy would cry into his arms. Wilbur remembered a time when they were both alive, both happier. Wilbur remembered a time where he could’ve said that this wasn’t real, that this was only a nightmare.

And it was a nightmare. But it was real.

Tommy hated this place. This _void._

Tommy hated its endless expanse, as if confirming that they were alone and nobody was coming to get them.

_It was still better than the confined walls of the prison, feeling like they were going to suffocate him as Dream spoke, closing in on him, trapping—_

“Hey kid,” Schlatt snapped suddenly, “You still with us?”

Tommy glared, hugging his knees to his chest like a child. He didn’t care. He was a child damnit. He should be able to act like one. In death at the very least.

Tommy still couldn’t believe that he was _dead._ That people were mourning him even as he sat there. That Sam was probably drowning in guilt.

Tommy hoped that he was, at any rate. He’d deserve it.

But… Tommy didn’t want Sam to live in misery for the rest of his life. He was a jerk, but he was a good person.

“I’m fine,” Tommy snapped at Schlatt.

He glanced over to Wilbur, who hadn’t said anything since Tommy’s rude awakening. Tommy couldn’t decide how he felt about his older brother at the moment. He was… relieved? Scared? No, not scared.

Definitely angry, that was for sure. Tommy glared at him. Wilbur didn’t look up from the ground.

Still, Tommy didn’t forget how Wilbur had comforted him in those last moments, stroking his hair like Tommy was seven again and he had fallen out of a tree.

“I hate you,” Tommy declared.

Schlatt rolled his eyes, leaning back. “Yeah, I know, kid.”

Tommy stared Wilbur down and eventually Wilbur shifted and said, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy blinked. “What?”

Wilbur scowled at the ground. “You’re not going to hear me say it again. Not at least until I come back to rip Dream apart limb from limb.”

Tommy couldn’t decide how he was supposed to feel about that. He decided it wasn’t worth the effort to figure it out.

“Shouldn’t you punch him to death or something?” he asked, “Sounds more poetic.”

Wilbur let out a crazed laugh, and Tommy winced.

“Good idea,” he said, “I’ll make him choke on his own blood.”

This time, Tommy flinched, staring at the ground, trying not to remember the blood filling his mouth, the taste of metal, the overwhelming fear that melted to exhaustion.

“Sorry,” Wilbur muttered, even though he had already promised not to say it again.

They didn’t say much else.

Similar to the prison, time was hard to track in the afterlife.

Tommy figured out how to summon random objects, something apparently Schlatt and Wilbur hadn’t bothered attempting. Fortunately, Schlatt had enough sense not to get himself drunk, which was a small blessing, according to Wilbur.

Anyway, Tommy had summoned them cards, and Schlatt decided that they should play poker, summoning some poker chips from the void as well.

It was half-way through playing that Tommy finally said something that had been pressing against his mind for a while.

“Do you think they miss me?” he asked.

Both Wilbur and Schlatt looked up from their cards, but Wilbur was the one to speak first.

“Probably,” he said, “Tubbo cares about you, right?”

Tommy shrugged. Tubbo had been growing closer and closer to Ranboo in the time that led up to Tommy’s _departure,_ and Tommy wasn’t all that sure that Tubbo cared much anymore.

Maybe he was being stupid.

“I think it was Phil’s birthday,” Tommy muttered.

Wilbur stiffened. He always stiffened when Phil was mentioned, even before he died. Tommy remembered Wilbur stiffening whenever Tommy asked where “dad” was when he was younger. Tommy remembered Wilbur stiffening whenever Phil would drop by for a few days. Tommy remembered Wilbur stiffening when Tommy brought up writing to Phil. Tommy imagined Wilbur stiffened when Phil showed up in the button room.

“Yeah?” Wilbur asked, clearly trying to sound nonchalant, but Tommy saw a cigarette appear in Wilbur’s hand, so clearly it hadn’t worked.

Schlatt snatched the cigarette away. “If I can’t drink, you can’t smoke.”

Wilbur glowered.

“Do you think he noticed?” Tommy continued, “Do you think he noticed his son died on his birthday?”

The silence was deafening. It was just as good as if someone shouted across the void, _I don’t know._

But they never knew, so that was nothing new.

They continued the poker game, pretending the conversation had never happened.

Tommy started building.

It wasn’t that hard. He just summoned the materials and placed stuff down. He was honestly surprised that Schlatt and Wilbur were too stuck in their own misery to actually try and make their afterlife more interesting.

“We didn’t give a crap,” Wilbur tried to explain.

Tommy scoffed. “Exactly,” he said, “Try and live a little.”

“We’re dead,” Schlatt pointed out helpfully.

Tommy flinched. He still wasn’t used to thinking himself as dead, even though it had to have been at least a month. Tommy wondered if they had his funeral yet.

“Well I refuse to be bored out of my mind like you idiots,” Tommy said in a matter of fact tone, “So help me build or be miserable, it’s your choice.”

Both Wilbur and Schlatt laughed, but Wilbur was the only one to help build. They ended up making a house with three rooms and a living area. Schlatt complained about the lack of a bar. Wilbur retorted that they wouldn’t need one.

It was nice to have a bed again. It was nice to pretend that maybe Tommy was in the real world, that he wasn’t living in this strange void, that he was at Sam’s house, maybe, or even Wilbur’s house before they came to the SMP.

Tommy still got nightmares, though. Dream killing him in the bow duel; Dream killing him in the final control room; Dream killing him in the prison.

Huh. Dream had taken all of his lives. Fitting.

On one of those days, Tommy went downstairs to the living area, curling up on the couch. Schlatt was already in the kitchen, staring longingly at a glass of wine.

Tommy was too tired to try to stop him.

However, Schlatt caught Tommy’s eye and sighed, dumping the wine into the sink. He summoned a couple of mugs, walked over, and handed one to Tommy.

Tommy took it, eyeing it suspiciously. His heart throbbed when he saw what it was.

It was hot chocolate.

Sam used to give him hot chocolate after the nightmares. Wilbur used to give him hot chocolate on the gloomier nights.

Tommy hoped that Sam still gave Tubbo and Ranboo hot chocolate. Tommy hoped that Sam gave himself hot chocolate.

“Thanks,” Tommy muttered, taking a sip of the rich liquid.

It wasn’t quite the same as Sam’s; it was much more reminiscent of Wilbur’s, but that was probably for the best. Thinking about Sam hurt on the best of days.

Just… Sam had been _right there._ Sam could’ve gotten him out, and Tommy wouldn’t be dead.

“Don’t mention it,” Schlatt said gruffly, sitting down at an armchair a little way away from the couch.

Wilbur marched downstairs only a few minutes later. When he saw Tommy and Schlatt, he froze before slowly walking up to Tommy’s couch.

He cleared his throat. “Can I—”

Tommy sighed. “Yeah.”

Wilbur sat down on the opposite end of the couch and summoned his own mug of hot chocolate.

Funnily enough, Schlatt was the first one to breach the silence.

“Nightmares?” Schlatt asked.

Tommy nodded, and Wilbur laughed quietly.

“I didn’t sleep,” he said, “We don’t exactly need it.”

Schlatt grinned. “I don’t know,” he said, “It’s nice to get the rest we were actually promised.”

Tommy scowled. “Not exactly rest if you can’t stay asleep.”

There was a small hesitance before Wilbur said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

A part of Tommy wanted to scream. _No,_ he didn’t want to talk about it. Wilbur wasn’t Puffy, he wasn’t his _therapist._

Did Puffy miss him? Or was Tommy nothing more than a charity case for her?

It didn’t exactly matter.

Still, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder, what would Puffy say if she were here? Probably something along the lines of talking out your feelings and dumb crap like that.

So, Tommy told them. Tommy explained the exile, the armor in the holes, the beatings, the explosions, the verbal abuse, the manipulation. Tommy described L’manberg being completely blown to the ground, with nothing but bedrock and smoke. Tommy detailed the final battle, how close he was to losing Tubbo, how he had killed Dream and locked him up.

Tommy managed to get as far as going to Dream for closure before his throat closed up.

“ _Oh,_ Tommy,” Wilbur whispered, looking horror-struck, “I’m… god… can I—”

Tommy thrust himself into Wilbur’s arms before he could even finish, sobbing into his brother’s shoulder. It was mortifying, doing this in front of Schlatt, but Tommy needed the comfort. He needed someone to hold him again. Was that so wrong?

Probably. But Wilbur hadn’t pushed him away yet, so that was good enough for him.

Wilbur could barely believe it.

Tommy had only wanted _closure._ Tommy had only wanted closure from a man who had abused and manipulated him, and instead he was granted death.

It wasn’t even painless. It wasn’t even _quick_. No quick shove in the lava, which would’ve hurt like hell but been done in an instant. No, instead Tommy gets to be beaten to death, slowly and painfully.

Wilbur wanted to kill something. Too bad everyone here was already dead.

Instead, Wilbur rocked his brother back and forth, whispering comforts into his hair like when they were young, and Tommy had a nightmare about Wilbur leaving him.

“Never again,” Wilbur promised, “Never again.”

Schlatt had to give it to the kid. He had managed to get the crappiest set of circumstances Schlatt had ever seen.

And that was saying something.

Sure, the kid may have done a few stupid things along the way, but Tommy was a _kid._ Schlatt knew that he had done _way_ stupider things in his day. At least Schlatt had lived to say he was an adult.

And Schlatt honestly wasn’t sure why Tommy had landed _here,_ with Schlatt and Wilbur. They were the villains; it made sense that they would be stuck together.

But Tommy? He was the hero. He had sacrificed time and time again for others. And where did it land him?

Stuck. With Wilbur and _Schlatt_ of all people.

But Schlatt had to really give it to the kid, he had somehow managed to make death a lot more _livable._ Which sounded strange, but true.

Like, Wilbur and Schlatt would never be drinking hot-chocolate in the middle of the ‘night’ if it weren’t for Tommy.

And that didn’t mean that it was a good thing that Tommy died, of course it didn’t, but it was nice that the kid was at least trying to move on. Unlike Schlatt and Wilbur, who just glared at each other and pouted at the abyss.

Wilbur had started writing again, had started playing the guitar again. Schlatt had started to get into reading, purposefully reading books that Wilbur scorned.

Tommy had started to brighten. He built more buildings, and some had interesting feats of red-stone.

“Sam taught me,” Tommy said simply whenever he was asked.

Schlatt and Wilbur were still angry at Sam, livid really, for leaving Tommy stuck in a prison to die. But Tommy seemed to have moved on, or was at least pretending to.

Maybe forgiveness was better than holding onto bitterness in the long run. It was certainly easier to have a happy afterlife when Schlatt _wasn’t_ glaring at everyone with him twenty-four/seven.

Of course, he made sure to glare at Wilbur every so often. Wilbur returned the favor. They had a reputation to keep up.

They never glared at Tommy. No need to trigger something unnecessarily.

“Do you think they’ll try to bring me back?” Tommy asked over another cup of hot chocolate.

Did he want to go back? He was happy here. Would he be happy if he were alive again?

Schlatt snorted. “Probably, knowing those idiots.”

“We’ll be with you if they do,” Wilbur said, “If they want you, they’re going to have all of us.”

Tommy smiled.

Things weren’t perfect. Things were far from perfect. Tommy still had nightmares about wars and abuse and death. Wilbur still had nightmares about abandonment and betrayal. Schlatt still had nightmares about things that he had never told them about.

But things were getting better, and Tommy wasn’t sure he would mind spending an eternity here.

“Thanks,” he said.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “We should be thanking you. You’ve certainly made things livelier around here.”

Schlatt nodded. “What he said.”

“Yeah, well, I never thanked you for earlier,” Tommy said, directing his attention toward Wilbur.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

Tommy shrugged. “For being there. When I… y’know.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said, “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Tommy protested.

Wilbur ruffled his hair. Tommy didn’t flinch. “I care about you,” he said softly, “I didn’t want you to die alone.”

Tommy leaned against Wilbur, nodding sleepily. “That would be very rude,” he agreed.

Wilbur laughed softly. “Yeah.”

“I’m tired,” Tommy muttered.

“Go to sleep, Toms,” Wilbur said, “We’ll be here when you wake.”

Tommy nodded and allowed himself to fall asleep against his older brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost instantly after the stream ended.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, please be nice in the comments, and thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Scream at me on [discord](https://discord.gg/wwKCj56Rsu) or check me out on [tumblr](https://mollypollykinz.tumblr.com/).


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